


got a hold on me like glue

by optimusfine



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Arizona Coyotes | Phoenix Coyotes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optimusfine/pseuds/optimusfine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It actually is a little funny, because really, Shane is 35 years old and he's having a problem with <b>hats</b>, of all things. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	got a hold on me like glue

"What am I supposed to do with these?"

Shane is talking to himself out loud when he grabs the nearest hat and shoves it on his head over his still shower damp hair, brim turned backwards. There are so many hats everywhere, not helped by the fact that the whole rest of the team must have bought out the entire hat stock from the gift shop or something, because most of these hats still have the price tag on them, and a huge lump of them had been dumped at Shane's feet in the locker room after the ones from the ice had already been given to him by a grinning Ray and Daymond. It makes him feel sort of weird, like he just wants to hug all of his teammates and never let go and tell them how much they mean to him but that's a bit more touchy-feely and emotional than he's really comfortable with.

Thankfully, all of his teammates have gone home for the night, so he doesn't have to worry about possibly giving in to his weird, grateful, captain-y feelings. Biz and the rest of the gang had tried to convince Shane to come out to dinner --

 _"Shane. Doan. Doaner, you just scored your first fucking hat trick, come on man. It's time to party."_

\-- but he wasn't even sure if he was going to make it out of the locker room without passing out, let alone to dinner and then home, because Coach Tipp had thrown him out there shift after shift after shift and while it felt good to finally get the hat trick monkey off his back -- really, _really_ good, actually -- he's exhausted and he just wants to go home, even though Andrea and the kids aren't there because she'd taken them to see her parents for the weekend and he somehow has to figure out what to do with all of these hats.

Is he supposed to wear them? Is he even supposed to take them home with him? This is the first time he's been on this side of a hat trick, he doesn't know what to do.

Seriously, why isn't there a handbook for this?

"Doaner?"

Shane doesn't jump, he _doesn't_ , okay, even when Keith comes around the corner into the locker room, looking sort of embarrassed and also kind of concerned, which is a weird look on Keith's face.

"Hi."

Shane runs his fingers through his hair, knocking the hat he'd forgotten about on his head askew with his knuckles and bringing his attention back to the matter at hand.

"You look confused."

Now Keith looks more amused than anything, and Shane might be offended that Keith is secretly laughing at him but he can't find it in him to care about that at all. Besides, nothing Keith does ever really offends him, but that's probably because Yandle is always really nice to him.

Huh.

"I'm not confused, I'm..." Shane trails off, licking his lips absently when he nudges at a hat near his foot with his bare toes. "Well, no, okay, I am kind of confused. What am I supposed to do with these hats?"

There's a long silence, and Shane gets the feeling Keith is trying not to laugh at him.

"It's a serious question, don't laugh."

"I'm not laughing."

"I know you want to. Stop it. It's not funny."

It actually is a little funny, because really, Shane is 35 years old and he's having a problem with _hats_ , of all things. But he has no clue what he would do with these hats even if he brought them home, so it really is a valid question.

"What do you want to do with them?"

"Well I want to keep them. It would be silly of me not to keep them. Someone spent money on them." Shane nudges at another hat with his foot. "And they are _mine_ now, technically. But what am I going to do with all of them? This is a lot of hats."

When Shane looks up, Keith has stepped closer, seemingly being careful not to step on any hats -- which is harder than it sounds, really, they're _everywhere_ \-- and is looking at Shane thoughtfully. Sort of. Sort of thoughtfully. Why is Keith looking at him like that? What did he do?

"What?" and Shane mentally congratulates himself on not sounding as confused as it sounded in his head.

"Are you really worrying about hats right now?"

The way Keith asks that question makes Shane narrow his eyes, but Keith is shuffling closer and he has this _look_ that Shane probably shouldn't recognize as quickly as he does.

"It's a valid concern!" Shane protests, sitting down on the bench when Keith presses closer and tilting his head up so he can still keep looking at Keith. "I've never had to deal with this many hats before and I'd never really thought about it before tonight..."

"Shane. You are so ridiculous, seriously."

"Hey-"

"Term of endearment. I'll help you take care of the hats, okay? Stop worrying. When you worry, you get this wrinkle between your eyes--" and Keith pokes at the spot, Shane going cross eyed when he tries to follow Keith's finger. "And it's not attractive."

"If you're just going to stand there and insult me I'll move all these hats by myself."

Shane nearly feels Keith roll his eyes, and he grins; it isn't very often he can make Keith exasperated enough to roll his eyes, and it's the little victories, really, just one more thing to make tonight awesome.

"Doaner, stop talking."

There's something about Keith taking charge -- even though he doesn't ever really take charge; they're both too aware of the “C” on Shane's jersey that's been there for so long it's practically inked onto his skin for either of them to be completely okay with that -- that makes Shane smile, so different from the Keith he knew when they started whatever this is. Keith had been so tentative, his hands always so light when they'd skated over Shane's skin, like he didn't want to touch too hard or something. And considering they're both hockey players, that just didn't make any sense.

It had taken more than a few months for Shane to finally figure out that Keith was nervous, and perhaps he'd cheated a little when he'd plied Keith with alcohol and then Keith spilled everything about how "I think you are so fantastic, Doaner, I hope that maybe someday I can be like you and you are my role model, you know? It's still weird stepping on the ice with you because you are _great_ , you are the best captain ever, I don't care what anyone else says, not that anyone says anything bad about you because I'd beat them up, you are so awesome," but it all worked out in the end so whatever, Shane didn't feel that bad about getting Keith drunk.

Plus, he'd taken care of hungover Keith the next day so it all evened out.

Keith's hands settle on Shane's shoulders, warm and comfortably heavy through the thin layer of Shane's shirt, and Shane curls his fingers around Keith's slim hips easily, like they belong there.

"Stop thinking so loud, I can hear you."

"Well then maybe you should stop listening, eh?"

Keith shakes his head -- probably fondly -- and then leans in, hands curling tighter around Shane's shoulders.

"Shut up and let me kiss you," with a teasing grin that makes Shane lean up and kiss Keith quickly, just to see the way Keith narrows his eyes at him; they're both inherently competitive guys, and he knows Keith is irritated because Shane kissed him first. Not _really_ irritated, of course, just the playful kind of irritated that makes Keith try harder to be better than Shane and usually leave marks on his skin that make Andrea smile knowingly at him when he comes home later than usual from practice or a road trip, a theory proven correct when Keith slides to his knees and tugs on the button of Shane's jeans, eyes narrowing even further in determination.

"Do you need any help?"

"I got it, old man. Don't want you to hurt yourself."

Shane snorts, swatting at the back of Keith's head because it's there and he can before he folds his arms over his chest and leans back expectantly.

A fair bit of maneuvering and shoving aside of hats ends with Shane's jeans and boxers near his knees, his hands tangled in Keith's curls and Keith trying to suck his soul out through his dick. It's hot and wet and _awesome_ , Keith's tongue curling one way as his fingers curl the other and Shane has to bite at the inside of his wrist to keep from making any noise.

He's very, very aware of the fact that this is the locker room -- the locker room, really, how did Keith think this was a good idea? -- and while they're basically the worst kept secret on the team, he's not sure anyone wants to see the secret firsthand.

Also then there will probably be some questions regarding Keith's "A" and that's not exactly something Shane wants to deal with ever.

So Shane tugs at Keith's curls, _hard_ , hard enough that he knows it hurts but he also knows that Keith likes it and he's rewarded with a low groan around him and Keith's dark eyes cracking open to look at him and that's it, he's gone.

When Shane comes back to himself, it's to Keith's forehead resting against his bare thigh, little puffs of hot breath making his hair stand on end, and he cards his fingernails over the curve of Keith's scalp, absently licking his lips again. A quick glance downwards reveals Keith's hand beneath the waistband of his sweats, but it's not moving, and Shane recognizes that little aftershocks he can feel under Keith's skin as post orgasm ones.

"What, no old man jokes? I'm disappointed in you, Yandle."

Shane gets a smack in the leg for that one, followed by Keith's teeth pressing gently against his skin, more of an affectionate gesture than anything, because both of them know that it won't hurt. It probably should be weird that Keith bites him as a show of affection, but then again, they're hockey players. They do weird things.

"Maybe I just wanted to give you a break because you scored your first hat trick, eh? Speaking of," he continues before Shane can say anything as they disentangle themselves from one another, and Shane nearly trips over a hat when he stands from the bench.

"Congratulations, by the way," and Keith concludes the statement with a kiss, licking at Shane's bottom lip. Keith kind of tastes like dick, which still isn't very pleasant, but Shane is not ever going to complain about that, so he just grins and kisses back, feeling the exhaustion from earlier seeping back into his body.

"Thanks, Keith," Shane says softly, but sincerely, and Keith loops an arm over his shoulders.

"No problem, old man. Now come on, it's probably way past your bed time and I know you've got a really comfortable bed at your house calling your name."

This is very true, but-

"What about the hats?"

"I'll take care of the hats, you just go home. Be safe, okay? This team wouldn't be the same without you."

~

The next morning, Shane wakes to a pounding on his door at some ungodly hour, and he's grumbling all the way to the front door, rubbing at his arms to keep them warm; he forgot to turn the heater on last night, and it gets _cold_ in Arizona at night, surprisingly.

There's no one there when Shane opens the door, but there _is_ a big black trash bag with a note taped to the front, and when he opens the bag, he smiles.

 _Shane-_

 _You're welcome._

 _-Keith_

**Author's Note:**

> HAT TRICK FOR SHANE DOAN. STILL EXCITING. :DDDD ummmm so basically i have a lot of thoughts about these two but all you need to know is that [this](http://28.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxh05xxH3y1r9r6lao1_400.gif) happened and [this](http://30.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxhnprjrtx1qcnsdro1_500.png) happened. other things happened too, but those are the most important ones, dealwithit.gif. fic title taken from _howlin' for you_ by the black keys, which is an awesome song and also happens to be the coyotes' goal song.


End file.
